Commentator Scott Thybony is no stranger to grueling desert hikes. He's trudged up and down many canyons and mountains in the Southwest, including one that "wasn't really there". In his latest Canyon Commentary, Thybony explains his journey to Spirit Mountain in the Mojave Desert.
Some people climb a mountain because it's there. And some - I've learned - climb a mountain even when it's not there. By mid-morning I reach the Colorado River at Laughlin where a down-on-his-luck visitor sits on a corner next to his carry-on luggage. He wears designer sunglasses and holds a sign reading, "Hungry". At least the casino let him keep the shirt on his back. Crossing the bridge I head toward Spirit Mountain, a wildly rugged peak standing a mile above the river. It's the place of origin for the tribes who have lived for generations along the Colorado, the place where all people entered the world through a hole in the sky.
The idea to climb Spirit Mountain began a few days ago with Boma Johnson, who spent much of his career as a BLM archaeologist. During our conversation, he related an account of its origin. A Quechan friend told him how - when everything was still in its spirit form - their creator first went up the mountain that wasn't there. Boma stopped him and asked, "How can you go up a mountain that's not there?"
His friend said, "It's simple, because he's not there."
Soon I turn onto a dirt road leading into the desert. It climbs steadily, and near Christmas Tree Pass I start seeing junipers decorated with red ornaments and tinsel. To keep the Christmas spirit, the locals have a tradition of decorating the roadside trees. And the BLM rangers, enforcing the rules, have a tradition of undecorating them.
After parking I grab a pack and head up the mountain. I have a topo map and some rough directions to get started. No constructed trail leads up Spirit Mountain, only a route marked by cairns. At the first ridge I have a choice: lose several hundred feet by descending into a wash, or head straight up to the summit ridge. The crest breaks into a jagged skyline of granite spires, but by studying the map I see a possible route and take it.
Higher up I hit a series of granite fins not shown on the topo map, forcing me to scramble, dodge and detour. Then it gets hard. I reach the ridge only to get cliffed out at every turn. Being only a half a mile from the top, I'm tempted to continue. But the effort to get this far has drained my reserves, and the warning lights have started to blink. Admitting my mistake, I retreat back to camp.
At dawn I'm on my way again. This time I use a steep talus slope, the only practical ascent route. It zigs after every zag, and each cairn marks the way to go, the right path, the only path. But the main route mixes with pathways made by hikers who have strayed or bighorns with interests different than ours. All have cairns, so I ignore them and pick the best route dictated by the terrain.
Closing on the summit, I weave through pinnacled rocks as upright as human forms crowded together. They appear ready to begin their journey down the Trail of Dreams, an ancient pilgrimage route running south from here to the Sea of Cortez. Standing on the summit I survey the Mojave Desert spreading out from the foot of the mountain. The horizon inscribes a wide circle enclosing distant ranges and desert basins as flat as inland seas. The climb began with a lesson in humility and ends where the cliffs drop away on all sides and the Trail of Dreams begins.
Scott Thybony is a Flagstaff-based writer. His Canyon Commentaries can be heard monthly on KNAU, Arizona Public Radio.
